


Potter Twitching

by SpaceSeaGirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Harry, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Gryffindor Friends, Harry Potter Twins Story, Harry with James's hair and Lily's eyes, Harry with Lily's hair and James's eyes, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Hufflepuff Friends, Inter-House Friendships, Light Harry, Light girls convert Dark boys who start out hating them, Neville joins Ron and Hermione, Powerful Harry, Ravenclaw Friends, Ravenclaw Harry, Seer Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin friends, beauty and the beast esque, different dursleys, slow growing Powerful Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 19:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11881722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceSeaGirl/pseuds/SpaceSeaGirl
Summary: Lily and James Potter give birth to two fraternal twin girls instead of one boy; both girls end up the Chosen One. A boy their age who seems to be Voldemort’s illegitimate son appears at Hogwarts, but he is eerily similar to Voldemort’s Tom Riddle. Vernon and Dudley find out there is a medical reason why they’re so obsessed with normality and prone to fits of temper. The Dursley family doesn’t quite turn out the same as they might have been. Weird dreams start emerging in the twins’ subconsciouses full of symbolic and metaphorical, veiled hints of things to come. Amid all this along the way, two sisters end up being heroes.Please Note: This is NOT a Voldemort/Harry fic. This is a divergent young Tom Riddle/female Harry fic.  I do not need any comments telling me Voldemort/Harry is gross.  That is not what this is.





	1. God Help A Family (In Which Marge is the Reasonable One)

It all started with a drawing.

Vernon Dursley came home from work one evening to find his nieces sitting on the floor near their cupboard. The cupboard under the stairs was their bedroom; the suggestion had been Petunia’s and Vernon had agreed out of some confused, mixed idea that they could somehow “squash” the magic out of the two little girls they had taken in. 

Vernon held no personal animosity toward the two girls. They couldn’t help being born from freaks. If they had looked like their father, that might have been different - it would have reminded Vernon of the angry pain of previous humiliation at the hands of James Potter, the same confused feeling he had always felt when he was almost certain people were making fun of him in school but he couldn’t really tell how or why. He had always felt that way, around their father. But as it was, Esmeralda and Evangeline Potter were two little twin girls, both with brutally short, practical hair so that Petunia didn’t have to spend too much time on them. One had jet black hair and almond shaped bright green eyes; that was Esmeralda. The other had dark red hair and round hazel eyes; that was Evangeline. 

They didn’t at all remind him of their father and so the resentment wasn’t present, the resentment Petunia seemed to feel so strongly. Only a kind of anxiety and uneasiness over what they were.

But he saw them sitting on the carpet drawing with crayons one evening when they were about four years old, ignored by Petunia making dinner in the kitchen and by his son Dudley playing upstairs. Vernon stopped in his front doorway and rage filled him, violent, unchased anger. The anger came from fear, from anxiety.

The girls weren’t supposed to be drawing. Imagination was disapproved of in the Dursley household as an uncontrollable element. Imagination was almost the same as magic and neither were conscionable. Imagination led to magic. Magic was an uncontrollable, unnatural freak thing. The peace had been broken. The stable familiarity had been broken. Those girls were breaking the rules. Those impudent girls were breaking established rules and they needed to be taught to respect their elders.

Evangeline held up a picture of a blue, floating elephant with a small, proud smile. Esmeralda glanced between them in alarm and moved to put Evangeline’s hand with the picture in it down, but it was too late. Vernon was across the room in three easy strides. Esmeralda backed Evangeline up into the cupboard door and stood in front of her, scowling with fierce, fearful defensiveness. Evangeline had not started crying, but her eyes widened and she stood very still in a kind of protective stance, totally frozen.

Vernon slammed a fist into the wall beside them and they jumped. The rage was still making the blood pound in his ears.

“You’re not supposed to be drawing!” he spat. “And even if you were, elephants aren’t blue and they can’t fly! Do you understand me? They can’t!” He had begun shaking them by the scruffs of their necks. The girls were crying in fear, calling out apologies.

Petunia ran into the entrance hall doorway and paused. “... Vernon?” she asked cautiously, watching like a hawk.

It was that calm, cautious tone that did it. Vernon’s anger faded. He paused, looked around in surprise - and slowly let go of the two girls. He saw the fear painted across their tear-tracked faces, and all of a sudden it hit him what had happened.

Petunia ran forward and grabbed the girls by the arms, her face twisted. “I told you not to play with Duddy’s crayons!” she snapped, shoving them economically into their cupboard and shutting the door on them. 

But even she had managed not to lose it the way Vernon had.

-

Vernon was sitting in his usual armchair, troubled, staring at the dark, blank television when Petunia came into the living room with their evening tea. All three children, their son in his upstairs bedroom and their two nieces, had gone to sleep.

It was a quiet night in English suburbia.

“Not the news tonight?” Petunia asked curiously. Then she smirked. “You know, you do have to actually turn the telly on for something to happen worth watching,” she added slyly.

Vernon just stared unseeingly into the box.

“... Vernon?” Petunia asked, troubled. “What’s wrong?”

“... I have always prided myself on normality,” said Vernon at last. “I have a nice house on a private road. I have a nice car and a corporate nine to five job in the city. I have a wife and a son. I even took on two orphaned nieces from your sister.”

“I know, Vernon. That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you,” said Petunia frankly, worried. “After the childhood I had with my sister… you were a breath of fresh air.”

“What I just did today… was not normal,” said Vernon with extraordinary difficulty. Petunia almost gasped. “I hold no personal resentment toward those two girls. I have nothing against them at all. And I began shaking them - just because they drew a nonsensical picture. Was that against the rules? Yes.

“Did it justify shaking two small girls? … No.”

Petunia began to speak, but Vernon said, “Let me finish.

“I always manage to bottle my anger up in the correct ways. Instead of yelling at odd people on the street, I yell at my employees at work. Everything is so carefully controlled to be socially appropriate. I bottle my anger up at all the weirdos in life and only let it free at the correct times.

“... You don’t know this about me, Petunia, but people used to make fun of me in school. They told me I was weird, that there was no filter between the opinions in my head and what came out of my mouth, that I didn’t know how to read social cues. So I’ve tried all my life to make up for it. By being normal in every possible way.

“You know me. Everything has to be just so. It’s always been that way; that’s what the other kids used to call weird. All my sandwiches have to be shaped like triangles. I don’t like people who wear brown shoes with black suits, God forbid some new fashion. My day has to be absolutely familiar, scheduled down to the exact second. My house can never change.

“I’ve always considered myself normal. But other people get along much better with change than I can. None of my employees would have shaken two girls they didn’t even resent just for breaking a rule and drawing a nonsensical picture.

“I’ve always considered myself normal. But what if I’m… not normal?” He looked over, pained, at Petunia. “I have my set script at dinner parties. A list of appropriate jokes to tell already made. But I can’t tell when someone’s joking with me. I still say whatever opinion goes through my head. In some ways, I haven’t really improved from when I was young.

“I’m intelligent, certainly. I’m not substandard. But what if I’m… not normal?”

Petunia frowned at him in concern for a long moment. Then she sighed and sat back. “I think you’re making too big a deal out of punishing two horrid little girls,” she said, snobbish and clinical. “And I think you should stop all this fuss and drink your tea.”

But Petunia had never liked Esmeralda and Evangeline. Not since the day they’d arrived. And she had her reasons, but Vernon didn’t. And he knew it.

-

He barely slept that night. When he got up as usual for work the next morning and went downstairs, he was still turning it all over in his mind. This was how it always was - he worked away at the uneasiness constantly in his head until he found some sort of conclusion.

But another thing he saw troubled him even more.

Dudley was slapping and shoving his sister figures in their high chairs. They were making fussy noises. Vernon scowled and went over, pushing Dudley’s hand away, suddenly abnormally attuned to Dursley violence toward the Potter twins.

Dudley immediately fell into a screaming fit, a temper tantrum or a meltdown, flailing his arms and legs everywhere with a red face, throwing things off his high chair and hitting anyone within arm’s reach.

“Dudley, stop it!” Vernon commanded in a booming voice. “Dudley, stop it now!”

But Dudley hadn’t stopped and now the two little girls were crying.

Petunia bustled over. “Vernon, what’s wrong? He’s just being a little boy,” she snapped.

“We’ve told him not to hit a little girl,” said Vernon in a forceful, anxious voice. “He broke the rules. And now he won’t listen to me again.”

“Oh, stop being angry with him,” Petunia cooed and went over, ignoring Dudley’s glancing blows, because Dudley was the perfect son who completed their perfect little house and they’d always known it. 

But if Vernon wasn’t perfect, what if Dudley wasn’t either? Suddenly, he remembered something his mother had said about him once before her passing.

_“You always were a very temperamental baby. Very aggressive. Always hitting people.”_

And he’d grown into an aggressive adult.

Shit.

-

He called in sick to work at Grunnings Co. His first time ever. Then he told Petunia he was going to work, left her at home with the children as usual, and drove to the private psychiatrist’s appointment he’d scheduled instead.

His anxiety mounted with each mile he drove toward the doctor for people sick in the head, with each mile he drove in completely uncharted territory. Soon it felt nearly choking. His sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel very hard and this wasn’t normal either, wasn’t normal at all.

He found the office, gasping and wheezing out at the receptionist’s desk, “Vernon Dursley. I have an appointment.”

The receptionist looked concerned, but found his records on the box of a desktop computer. “Ah, yes, Mr Dursley. Please go and take a seat. About a ten minute wait.”

He was exactly to the minute on time and always demanded the same of his employees, so this struck him as inefficient and irritating. He amused himself by considering filing a proper formal complaint later as he sat himself next to a young mother with two messy, screeching kids who were running around the play toys part of the office.

“Their names are Edith and Miles,” said the mother kindly, apparently mistaking his glance for fondness.

“Ah,” he said, turning to face front again. She wasn’t an employee, family member, or potential client, so he had no interest in her.

“Do you have children?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see pictures of mine?”

“No.”

The woman scowled and turned to face front again. She was probably upset with him. Most people were.

“Mr Dursley?” A smiling blonde woman came in holding a clipboard. At least she was mildly conventionally attractive.

He followed her back into the office and slowly sat himself down in a chair, feeling a little more familiar in proper, official surroundings. Forget that this whole dratted idea of going to see a head doctor was horrible in the first place. What had he been thinking? 

Then he remembered the tear-stained faces of two little girls and felt another uncomfortable twinge of something he didn’t know how to define.

Drumming his fingers on the armrest, he occupied himself in examining the office. The woman sat across from him without a desk between them, probably in a silly, misguided attempt to make him feel more comfortable. A desk would actually have been better. There were Impressionist landscapes on the walls. Many people would have found that soothing but Impressionism was actually a movement marked by complete disenchantment with ordinary, everyday life, which Vernon found to be a rather poor message from a psychiatrist.

Vernon did understand art. He understood a great many things. That didn’t mean he had to like any of them.

“Mr Dursley, do you often fail to make eye contact with others?” the psychiatrist asked suddenly.

“Ms Blumfeld -”

“Stacey, please.”

“Ms Blumfeld, am I required to look you in the eye in order to be considered a proper patient?” Vernon demanded.

“... No,” said Ms Blumfeld quietly. “I suppose not. Are you fond of repetition, Mr Dursley?”

“Ah, good. So you already have an idea of what might be wrong. That’s very promising.” Vernon Dursley cleared his throat… and then told her everything he had been thinking, minus the cupboard and minus the shaking and the pounding of the wall. He made it sound as though he’d just totally lost his temper and become rather aggressive.

“And all this aggression… it stemmed from anxiety with the unfamiliar?” said Ms Blumfeld softly, listening closely.

“Not very quick on the uptake, are you? I just said that,” Vernon barked.

“And you have some concerns about your son?”

“The aggression is the same.” Vernon shrugged helplessly. “We’re very fond of him so that’s all I’ve noticed.”

“Mr Dursley, I would like for you to bring your son in for a full screening,” said Ms Blumfeld. “Because I think I may have to diagnose you with Asperger’s Syndrome.

“You are autistic.”

-

When Vernon came home with the diagnosis he was nervous, and he had right to be. He stood uncomfortably as Petunia totally lost her temper.

“You lost your temper at those two freaks and now you come home and tell me some hack doctor has told you that you have a disorder? And that she wants to examine Dudley?! Why would you do this without consulting me?!”

“Petunia -” Vernon began uneasily.

“No. No. You don’t understand. You’re supposed to be normal. After my freak of a sister I was supposed to have a normal family.” Petunia was holding herself as if in pain, clutching at her head. Vernon was becoming increasingly alarmed.

“Yes, but I think we’ve got it all wrong. Don’t you understand? It was always us against all the weirdos in life,” said Vernon intently. “But… what if not everyone in the world is weird? What if it’s just that not everyone in the world has Asperger’s?”

Petunia stood straight and glared at her husband, feeling burning spite in her heart. Her face twisted, contemptuous and scathing.

“Come on, Petunia. If your son was really disordered and some help really could improve his life… wouldn’t you want to do that for him?” said Vernon softly. Petunia paused, torn. “And if he’s not disordered, what’s the harm in having a doctor insist so?”

“... He was our perfect son. The thing that completed our home,” said Petunia at last, tearfully. “We put up with all that and gave him all those things because he was our perfect son.” Now her voice was trembling. 

Vernon just stood there, watching her uneasily.

“Vernon,” said Petunia with tearful, snotty anger. “I would like a hug.”

“Oh. Okay.” Vernon walked forward and wrapped his arms around her in a somewhat uncertain hug. Physical affection had never been his forte.

Petunia leaned into his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and began to wonder despite herself if there wasn’t something to what this Blumfeld lady was saying after all.

-

The twins were left with tiny old local cat lady Mrs Figg while Vernon and Petunia took Dudley to see Stacey Blumfeld.

They insisted on sitting and watching the diagnosis like a hawk, but Stacey Blumfeld simply played with Dudley and some toys on the floor for a while and asked him a few questions. Then she sighed, sat back down in her chair, and said bluntly, “I would assume you would just like the truth.”

“Please,” said Vernon, as Petunia’s eyes narrowed icily.

“He has not reached certain intellectual milestones, though his physical milestones are fine,” said Ms Blumfeld.

“What if he’s just a late bloomer?” Petunia said immediately. “You’re already judging my son’s intelligence?”

“Petunia, let me be clear. At this age, we’re not assessing his ability to do complex mathematics. We’re assessing things like his ability to speak basic language,” said Ms Blumfeld bluntly. “And past a certain age, you’ve either hit that milestone or you haven’t.”

Petunia sat there, dumbstruck. Vernon sighed and put his head in his hand.

“He also is obsessed with repetitive motions, has trouble meeting someone’s line of sight, and seems oblivious to certain obvious social cues. Together with his described meltdowns in which he literally throws things and hits people, and his described aggression with his smaller female cousins… yes, I would say he is autistic,” said Ms Blumfeld. “Like Vernon, he loses his temper around what we would call a normal amount of environmental unfamiliarity.”

The word ‘normal’ was what got them. Vernon looked up and Petunia put a hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging again.

“... What do we do?” Petunia asked helplessly at last.

“I’ll give you some recommendation books to read on a list. I’ll give you advice for Vernon first, and then advice for Dudley,” said Ms Blumfeld. “We treat autism with a combination of therapy and antipsychotics, both of which I will prescribe to you, though it is not a perfect cure. Still, it should help with applying more natural behavior in both cases. Therapy should especially help Vernon and Dudley to understand over time when it’s their autism talking, not them. Self management techniques really are crucial in this process. The antipsychotics can keep them from things like paranoia and meltdowns.

“So. With Vernon, there is a definite need for routine. Keeping things as normal and routine and stable as possible, scheduling everything out to the exact letter and getting your children to do the same, should significantly help with this. Understanding of and abiding to daily habits is an absolute must. Familiarity is essential.

“Next we come to processing information. Asperger’s people often have a fine eye for detail and trouble sifting through important and unimportant pieces of information. This combination can make deciding what to eat for lunch, for example, extremely taxing. So deciding on exact details beforehand every day, and limiting the number of options for the person, can be extremely helpful.

“Third, when people with Asperger’s learn new things, they learn better with visuals than auditory. They also must learn the correct way the very first time, because they tend to repeat whatever they learn the same way every time.

“People with Asperger’s have trouble reading social cues and very little filter. So just be aware that it can be difficult for them to read nonverbals. Also be aware that they will say all those nasty thoughts no one else voices about what’s really going on in life. Maybe nudge them when something’s inappropriate, definitely do give them a script beforehand when possible, and tell them overtly when they’re not reading something correctly or when you want something.

“Asperger’s people are also not very openly or obviously affectionate. This does not mean they don’t care.

“Now, with Dudley, educational help will be important. Getting him assistance and a plan as soon as possible is vital. He will be able to go to school, but he will need help along the way. It also seems like you’ve been catering to his meltdowns, and not doing that is really important. There is a difference between catering to his needs - all his odd food or toy requests, for example - and simply giving him whatever he wants. That’s actually unhealthy for any child, and an autistic child is no different. Don’t tell them that screaming and aggression will get them their way - that can have very negative long term effects.

“Try to bond with him in whatever way you can, by play for example. Have your nieces do the same; it might cut down on any aggression or animosity between the children. Dudley learning that he shouldn’t hit and bully his cousins is extremely important, for him as well as for them. Bonding with an autistic child as much as possible is vital. Now, I’ve heard that you don’t allow the girls imagination, but I’d like to put forward the idea that this may partly be due to Vernon’s discomfort with uncontrollable unfamiliarity. It is very important that this not be catered to. His dislike of imagination seems to be his autism talking, not him.

“Get your child out and involved in the community, and if possible have your nieces do the same. General sociability in all parts of the household can really help a child with autism. And finally, also make sure everyone in the household generally understands Dudley’s challenges and needs so they can help as best as possible.

“In addition to knowing all this yourself, it is of course important to teach your children.”

In the thoughtful silence that followed, Ms Blumfeld matter of factly handed out the list of books and began writing the prescriptions. “I will be regularly filling your medications,” she said without looking up from her scribbling. “So you will be seeing me regularly when you have future questions or issues crop up.”

“We will need a recommendation for a therapist,” said Petunia immediately. “There’s no reason why this family can’t be… as normal as possible.” Suddenly, her concept of normality had shifted.

“Yes,” said Ms Blumfeld. “I expected as much.”

-

The house was rather quiet for a while as everyone adjusted. 

The biggest change was that Dudley stopped being spoiled. His number of toys was cut down, his tantrums were no longer catered to, and while his repetitive needs were, he was now fed healthy, normal amounts of food. With the general adjustability of children, Dudley soon learned he was not allowed to hit people and his tantrums no longer got him any results. He was also given his prescriptions, as was Vernon, and he and Dudley did start going to therapy regularly. Dudley's therapy was mainly behavioral as well as educational assistance, and he began jumping ahead in milestones.

It all helped. The paranoia and aggression in the household significantly lessened. And while Dudley started out as many children being overweight, he soon grew into a larger and more healthy blond boy.

Petunia was the only one who still treated the blasted girls with the same irritable snobbishness she had before, but reluctantly she followed through on what the doctor had said - for Dudley’s sake and for Vernon’s. She let the girls be imaginative, she let them go out and socialize and play with other children alongside Dudley (and now that Dudley wasn’t allowed to bully them anymore, they did quite well), and finally she let the girls play with Dudley and the rest of the family. “Socialization,” so to speak. She could admit to herself begrudgingly that neither girl was the total terror she’d expected. 

Esmeralda, the brunette, was super-confident but poised and friendly and polite. Evangeline, the redhead, was soft-spoken but not a trouble and prone to bouts of creativity and small smiles. Each seemed happier with their new lot in life - secondhand clothes, short haircuts, and cupboard-bedroom or no.

Their life was also improved by Vernon’s changes. The aggression, the cupboard punishments, the fear of the abnormal - all were gone. For the first time in his life Vernon felt calm, even a bit low, and slowly began to realize just how paranoid he had been behaving.

He fell into a troubled kind of listlessness. He had an incurable illness. All that time, he had been the abnormal one all along and it filled him with shame.

Petunia tried to help but there was only so much she could do. Vernon finally confessed the whole thing to Marge in her country house over the phone one night, and his sister sat in silence through the whole thing.

“... It does make sense,” she admitted at last, in her low, gruff, matter of fact voice. “But it’s awful to think how biased you’ve been in telling me about your family all this time. I feel rather stupid now.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Vernon could say helplessly.

“... I’m coming over,” said Marge suddenly, steely determination entering her voice. “I’ll bring one of my dogs. I am a neutral and supposedly well but caring third party. It’s time for me to decide everything for myself and fix a few things.”

And when Marge got that tone of voice, not hell nor high water stood in her way. God help a family in which Marge was the reasonable one.


	2. Just Different ("So Do People with High Blood Pressure")

Vernon went to pick Marge up at the train station and so she appeared on the Dursleys’ front step not long afterward. Marge was a large, steady woman with a matter of fact, loud, warm manner and a whole series of bulldogs she bred. Her brother was large like her, overweight now with a pot belly and black hair and mustache. Petunia was their exact opposite, thin, bony, long-necked, and blonde, a housewife to Marge’s single career life.

Marge threw open the door and called, “Where’s my Dudders?! Where’s my neffypoo?!” Dudley went running, grinning, into her arms and she engulfed him in a massive hug. “Oh, you’re looking good, getting very strong,” she told him, standing him back to look at him in mock surprise. (She’d already heard all about it.) Dudley beamed with pride.

Marge walked over and bumped cheeks with her sister-in-law. “Hello, Petunia.”

“Marge.”

Then Marge turned to look at the two girls, who were hiding watchfully in the shadows. Marge’s bulldog Annie was growling at them. Marge’s dogs always had sensed when she didn’t like someone, but she decided that had to change.

She walked over and pulled Annie gently back by the collar. “Annie, _no,”_ she said sternly. “Stop it.”

The twins paused and stared in surprise.

Marge looked up, her expression veiled, and said, “You two. Come with me.” She marched upstairs toward the guest room. The twins looked uncertainly at their aunt and uncle, and when Petunia and Vernon nodded encouragingly they cautiously followed Marge upstairs.

The guest room was rather plain but nicely colored with lots of comfy cushions, quiet portraits, and a nearby easy chair. It was a large, spacious room, as all the rooms in the neat, square Dursley house with its proper English garden were. Marge turned to look at her nieces and kneeled down to their level.

“My brother is not entirely well,” she said without preamble. “Do you know anything about that?”

The girls nodded. “Uncle Vernon needs everything to be the same all the time,” Evangeline piped up sullenly. “And Dudley needs help learning how to talk to people and play with them.”

“That’s right,” said Marge.

“Are you going to ask us to help more?” said Esmeralda, frowning. “We’re already helping a _lot.”_

“I’ve heard that. I’ve heard from Vernon that you’ve been doing very well,” said Marge. “Do you know what he also told me? He said that he thinks he might have been too harsh with you because he needs everything to be the same all the time. And he thinks he might have passed that on to me by telling me how awful you both were. When you’re really not awful at all - just different.”

“Different how?” Esmeralda tilted her head, puzzled. “Why would he not like us because he needs everything to be the same all the time?”

“Well, your parents were very strange people,” said Marge. “I think sometimes that makes him nervous. So he’s trying to get over that - and so am I.

“So I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to try giving you two a chance and treating you better. I heard you’ve actually been very good. As long as you continue to be that way, I don’t see why we can’t act like family,” said Marge. “Do you understand? All this not liking each other has to stop.”

Evangeline brightened, smiling quietly. “Yes, Aunt Marge.” Esmeralda paused cautiously - but then nodded her agreement.

“Okay.” She clapped them on the shoulders, smiling. Then she reached in and gave them both a surprise hug. They stiffened - and relaxed.

-

Over the following days, Marge watched everything closely. She let all the children play without being cruel or demanding to the two girls. They did turn out to be just as well behaved as Dudley himself, if not more so, and they included him in their play and were relatively patient with him. After a while, even Annie warmed up to Esmeralda and Evangeline and the children got to play with the dog.

This was much to Petunia’s chagrin - chronically clean and neat Petunia hated animals and their mess. It was one of the traits Marge had always secretly disapproved of. Capitalizing on the new lack of rules, she made sure to buy the children plenty of imaginative picture books that no-nonsense Petunia certainly wouldn’t have. 

She had fun with the children - laughing and playing with them herself. The girls slowly warmed up to this new Aunt Marge.

Petunia did not treat the two girls very well at all, but Vernon did. The trouble was that Vernon was obviously in a state of depression. He seemed tired, troubled, absent minded. It worried Marge because that wasn’t like her brother at all.

Finally, she took him out to lunch at a cafe and set him straight.

“There are two ways you can look at this,” said Marge bluntly without preamble the moment they’d sat down across the small, white cloth-laden table from each other in the crowded, sunny dining room. Vernon looked up in surprise.

“There are two ways you can look at this,” Marge continued. “You can either take the victim stance we both hate and go ‘Oh woe is me I’m not perfectly healthy and my life is over.’ Or you can look at it this way: Now you know what it is and you can do something about it. I mean, imagine your life and your family’s if you’d never been diagnosed at all.

“So you have to change your behavior a little and you have to take a pill once a day. Big deal. So do people high blood pressure. Be good to your family and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“So… this doesn’t change the way you look at me?” Vernon asked tentatively.

“No, Vernon. You haven’t changed a bit. Now there’s just a label slapped on it. And anyone who would blame you for being born with something is an idiot,” said Marge matter of factly, fussing with her napkin. “Definitely beneath our notice and not worth our time.”

Vernon looked at her searchingly for a long moment and then smiled. “Of course,” he said, going back to perusing his menu as if nothing had happened.

But he was much more himself after that.

-

The only thing Marge watched with increasing worry was the way Petunia treated her two nieces. She knew Petunia hadn’t gotten along with her sister, but the chilly, scathing way she treated the girls in this new light really was unconscionable. She grabbed them, slapped them, shoved them in their cupboard, snapped at them.

“It’s her that gives them that room and those clothes and that haircut, isn’t it?” Marge asked Vernon in a low voice. Vernon had been watching Dudley in the living room, but Marge was watching Petunia be harsh with Esmeralda and Evangeline out in the entrance hall.

“Yes,” Vernon admitted, troubled. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“I do,” said Marge, standing.

“Marge, don’t just tell her -!” Vernon began in alarm.

“Relax, Vernon. I’m not an idiot.”

Marge bustled over to Petunia and said, “Can I talk to you in private?” Petunia paused in surprise. Marge pulled her aside.

“Have you considered that therapy might help you yourself with all these changes happening in your household?” Marge asked in a low voice. “Isn’t it common to have therapy in most members of the family?”

“Why do you ask?” said Petunia coldly, suspicious.

“Because I think Vernon’s thoughts and behavior might have rubbed off on you as well as me,” said Marge steadily. “And we can’t have that with this new take on Vernon and Dudley.”

Petunia eyed Marge sharply for a long moment. “... I’ll schedule one therapy meeting,” she said at last. “If I don’t find it of any use, it’s gone. For my family and their autism.”

“Exactly,” said Marge readily. “Just make sure to bring up your actions with the whole family.”

It was her last act before leaving for her own home again. She didn’t really want Petunia to go to therapy because of her family’s autism at all.

She wanted Petunia to go to therapy because she was fairly certain Petunia was repressing several feelings about her sister - and instead taking them out on the two little girls she was raising. Only therapy could help with that.

Though Marge wouldn’t know it, this therapy would also unstopper several of Petunia’s feelings and misconceptions about magic.


End file.
